Not This Time
by BeautifulForMyLove
Summary: Sherlock and John pursue a suspect on their own. The chase ends with both men fighting to keep each other alive until help arrives.
1. Chapter 1

This story is inspired by the song Carry You Home by James Blunt. I'd give it a listen before you read.

Just something I had to get out on paper so to speak. :) not beta read or Brit picked so sorry in advance for any errors.

Warning: Major Character Death

I don't own anything.

Enjoy...

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As Strong As You Were...

John pounded through the soft pine needles lining the forest floor at a pace that put one in mind of running from a murderer.

Not towards one.

And yet here he was again running after his mad flatmate in the dead of night.

He could see Sherlock's long wool coat flapping wildly as he chased the murder suspect ahead of them.

They had been following the man for hours in the hope that he would lead them to his employer.

Then he had started to drive out of town.

He knew he was being followed.

He never listens, John thought. He'd told Sherlock it was a bad idea to chase a killer off into the countryside without backup.

No one even knew where they were exactly. He had fired off a text to Lestrade before running off into the woods but he was at least an hour away.

When the man had stopped his car and took off on foot into the dense forest, Sherlock had taken off after him without hesitation. Like he always did.

The trees were so thick that John lost his bearings almost immediately. His only point of reference was the bounding detective in front of him.

"Hurry up John! He's getting away!"

If possible Sherlock sprinted even faster.

Damn him and his long legs.

John watched him bound up a short hill to an outcropping of rocks a little ways ahead. He paused and John was able to catch up to him. He pushed for breath as Sherlock angrily yanked at his hair and paced in circles looking around wildly.

"Where did he go?!" he paced back and forth nearly manic as if by sheer force of will he could summon the missing man to him. There was nowhere he could have gone. The dark forest they had just came from was to their back and the rocks dropped off almost vertically in front of them.

Keeping a wary eye out himself John said, " I think he's gotten away. It's too dark to see any distance and we can't stay out looking all night."

Sherlock growled in anger, "Fine but we-"

Before he could finish a dark figure dropped from the trees above right onto his shoulders and they both crashed to the ground in a heap.

He started in shock for a brief second before he reacted.

Did he just jump from a bloody tree?

The distinct sound of bone snapping and a cry of pain jolted him to action, his soldiers mind taking over. Save his comrade from his attacker.

At the moment the large muscled man had Sherlock pinned on the ground with his arm twisted backwards at an unnatural angle. Broken, John thought.

He covered the few feet between them in a flash and knocked the man to the ground with a tackle that would make his rugby mates proud. They tumbled several feet and landed with John on top. He tried to pin the thugs arms but he was faster and threw a nasty punch to Johns ribs, knocking the breath from him. He threw them both over so John was now the one in the dirt.

The man was much stronger than he appeared and at the moment that strength was directed at Johns face. He got in two solid jabs before John could catch his breath. He felt blood pouring from his nose.

Enough was enough.

John crashed his fist into the man's jaw and he staggered back onto his arse. John was on his feet ready to pounce when he saw the glint of the cold steel in the moonlight.

"Now let's be civilized shall we? No more of this rolling about in the dirt rubbish. I'll just shoot you. Be nice and neat about it." he said in a thick Irish accent.

John held up his hands. "Think about this for a minute. The police know we followed you out here and they are on their way now. You won't get away with just shooting us."

The gun didn't waver.

His attention was drawn to Sherlock who was finally dragging himself up, hugging his injured arm to his chest.

John watched the gun swung around to aim at Sherlock.

He leaped at the suspect.

The warning shout from Sherlock came to late as the edge of rock face rushed at him.

His momentum carried them both over.

"This is going to hurt" he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was attempting to get his breath back after being crushed to the ground by the suspect jumping from the tree.

Who does that? He thought.

He shook the haziness from his mind and raised his head to see John a dozen feet away facing the suspect with his hands up in front of him.

The man had gotten a gun out from somewhere and it was trained on John. He was too close to miss if he fired.

The shot would be fatal.

Sherlock got to his knees noisily, stifling a cry of pain from moving his damaged arm. He didn't yet have enough air in his lungs to speak.

He looked up to see the gun swing from John's head to his own at the noise. The movement seemed to Sherlock to be slow and exaggerated.

He watched John leap towards the man with the gun as soon as his attention was diverted.

But Sherlock saw what John did not.

He saw how close the edge of the cliff was and the angle at which John threw his body would send them right over and he had no way of knowing what the awaited him over that dark drop.

Taking in all the air his injured ribs would allow he shouted for John to stop. Don't be an idiot. But it was far to late for that.

Sherlock watched with rising dread as they came to the edge. He saw the realization show on Johns features. He now saw the reason for Sherlock's warning.

Sherlock could only watch as they disappeared without a sound. Over the edge and into the consuming darkness below.

No no no no!

He got to his feet and approached the edge. Fear sat in his stomach like a block of ice at the thought of what he would find. Sherlock cursed his brilliant mind at times like these. A dozen different images flashed through his mind, each as dark and haunting as the next.

Johns eyes, open and starting but not seeing.

Johns body, lying broken and bloodied.

John twisted in pain, reaching for help.

Sherlock shook his head in an attempt to rid his head off the disturbing images. Very much not helpful. Besides, it may not be that bad. He recalled a map of the area. Rocky and hilly yes, but there were no cliffs with a hundred foot drops. More likely to be 15 too 20 feet. Dangerous but survivable.

He peered over the edge.

Nothing.

He couldn't see anything in the scant moonlight.

Torch! He always had a small torch with him. He dug in his pocket to produce the small but powerful light. Flipping it on he shone it down.

The small area of illumination showed two bodies approximately 20 feet down a steep rocky incline as he had suspected. He could just make out John in his black coat and beige trousers. He was lying face down, legs partly on top of the other man. It was impossible to tell from this distance if either man was alive. He needed to get down to them.

The drop was not exactly straight down, there was a slight angle and just enough juts of rock here and there that Sherlock believed he could make it down unharmed.

He secured the light between his teeth and lowered his legs over feeling for a toehold rather than actually seeing any. He only needed to minimize the distance by a few feet and he drop down the rest.

His injured arm was completely useless. He tucked it in close to keep it out of the way and focused on keeping his balance, recalling roughly where the protruding rocks were at. He made his way down painstakingly slow. Finally he was able to jump the last little bit, the impact jarring his broken bones and causing him took bite down painfully on the light still in his mouth. Ignoring the flash of pain in his arm, he surveyed the scene before him. John lay face down, unconscious but Sherlock could see the rise and fall of his chest. So breathing. Alive. The light shone off the offending gun that caused this mess, lying just to the right of John.

Sherlock quickly checked the other man. Unconscious but alive as well. His jaw hung at an unnatural and grotesque angle. Serves him right Sherlock though to himself. He would give him a good slap when he came to just for fun. He nudged him with his foot. The man didn't move. Out cold.

Sherlock dropped down beside John set about figuring the best way to roll him over using one arm without causing further injury. He gently felt down his neck and what he could reach of his spine. It didn't appear to be injured but not all injuries were visible to the naked eye. He growled in frustration.

He placed a stabilizing hand on the back of John's head.

"John? John, wake up."

He bent closer.

A bit louder, "John!"

John stirred, a sound that could have been Sherlock slipping from his lips. He moved to get up but only succeeded in shifting a little, Sherlock held his hand firm.

"Don't move to much yet John. I don't know how badly your hurt."

John drug his arm up and wriggled it up under his face so he wasn't resting in dead leaves anymore. Sherlock watched him gently move arms, fingers, legs and , toes. Finally he turned his head to the side to look up at Sherlock.

"I think I'm ok to turn over at least. But my side is killing me. Can't catch my breath. Think I might have busted a few ribs."

Sherlock decided against criticizing his assessment based on a few wriggled extremities and helped him to position himself in his back. John's breath was coming in short, rapid gasps through gritted teeth by the time he was situated. Sherlock took the torch and shined the light on his prone friend. His stomach dropped at the sight that greeted him.

A branch protruded from John's left side just below his ribs.

Blood was already pooling and soaking through his shirt. Sherlock glanced up at John's face. He was very pale and had his eyes screwed tightly shut against the pain. Sherlock knew this was very bad. His brain shifted in to statistics and calculations. Penetrating wound by foreign object. Placement and angle suggested severe injury to lung. Impaired breathing. Possible collapse. No exit wound so...

"Sherlock."

His attention snapped up to see John looking at him. "I can read it all over your face so just tell me already. What is it and how bad?"


End file.
